


Sugar and Spice

by SapphireOcean (JujYFru1T)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Multi, Nonbinary Chara & Frisk (Undertale), Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Some Plot, Talent Shows, and copious use of google translate French, copious use of parenthetical asides
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JujYFru1T/pseuds/SapphireOcean
Summary: …can make spectacular explosions. An oblivious robot, a spider with a crush, and one enabling human teenager equal a cornucopia of escapades.
Relationships: Chara/Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk, Frisk & Muffet (Undertale), Kris/Ralsei/Susie (Deltarune), Mettaton/Muffet (Undertale), Muffet & Muffet's Pet (Undertale), Muffet & Papyrus (Undertale)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ~Once upon a time...~ A lovely anon reached out to me on FF.net with a request for Undertale fic and a bunch of headcanons about Muffet. And now I've got my first-ever multichapter fic!!! Because, of course, my rareshipping trash brain dreamed up a Muffeton subplot (or is it just Plot), and I got entirely too invested in shenanigans, and 20k+ words later I finally realized the one-shot train had left the station. *casually tags minor ships*  
> Dear lovely anon: you're the most patient person on the planet, I think. Thanks for brainstorming, cheerleading and everything else! Please enjoy.
> 
> Also: this story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Keyboardmash and emojistorm comments
>   * Questions
>   * Prompts
>   * Image reactions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I also reply to comments. But if you’d rather not receive a reply for any reason, sign your comment with “whisper” and I’ll just squee to myself about it. ^_^  
> Want/need help with something to write? [Find the LLF Comment Builder here!](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)

“Bye-bye, dearies! Do come again, ahuhu~”

As the last customers left Muffet’s Patisserie and Fine Explosives, bell jingling behind them, the shop’s namesake sighed in relief. It had been a long day, made longer still because Muffet had not been at her best, work-wise; her head had been in the clouds most of the time. Thank goodness Frisk had been running the non-edible part of the shop. Distractions and things that go boom did not mix. She had been so distracted, in fact, that she’d gone the whole day without having one of her sugary cigars, colloquially termed spider stogies. To say this was an unusual occurrence was a vast understatement, given that she always had one in her mouth (sometimes she even fell asleep with one). The craving was loud and clear now, but first there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Muffet pulled out hair ties with three of her arms while she made her way to the half of the building where the Fine Explosives were sold, all her eyes wide for signs of Frisk. “Ma coeur, how were your sales?” she trilled, waist-length hair flowing around her like spider silk. “Where could they be…”

There was Frisk’s notepad on the counter, where they kept track of stock and doodled during slow times. Everything was clean and orderly… except for some Kit-Kat crumbs on the counter.

“Frisk?” called Muffet. “Is your frie--”

“Hi,” said Chara.

Muffet squeaked and spun around. “Oh! Hello, Chara. I thought you might be here.”

They smiled, a bit sheepish, and walked past her with paper towel in hand. “Was just about to clean this up.” They nodded at the Kit-Kat evidence.

“Thank you,” said Muffet, spiriting away some stray webbing that had materialized from fright. “Have you seen Frisk?”

“They were here a sec—” Chara’s eyes widened and they stopped, pressing a hand to their mouth to stifle laughter.

“I’m right here!” Frisk’s voice was distant, yet somehow nearby.

“Zut alors,” Muffet exclaimed, lifting her hair away with a three-armed grip. Frisk stumbled their way out from underneath.

“I’ve been under your hair since you entered the hallway. I _was_ going to pop out when you got _here,_ ” Frisk said, pulling spider silk from their sweater, “but I got stuck.”

Chara was laughing openly now, hands on their knees.

“Goodness me, it’s a wonder your cleverness hasn’t gotten you into more trouble.” Muffet tutted, brushing spiderlings out of Frisk’s hair and helping remove webbing. (Muffet’s hair was voluminous, but on any other day a teenage human hiding within her locks would have been noticed much sooner.)

“Believe me,” Chara said through laughter, “it’s not the first time they’ve gotten into a _sticky_ situation.”

Frisk stuck their tongue out at them, then said, “And yet you still love me.”

“As well they should!” Muffin gave Frisk a final pat. “Why, you’re so cute I could eat you right up.” She reached up, pinched both their cheeks and ruffled their hair at the same time, cooing.

Frisk giggled, pulling at her hands. “You have. Several times,” they said matter-of-factly.

“Très vrai,” Muffet responded, letting them go, “But that was ever so long ago, before we became friends!”

“What about last week, though. Oh, and the day before yesterday. And then there was--”

“Ahuhu, yes, well!” Muffin twirled away from them, sweating slightly. “Chara, dearie, h-have you met Mr. Tuffet?” While Frisk was well-acquainted with her precious pet, she couldn’t recall if they had introduced Chara to him.

She sweated a bit more at Chara, who was now standing straight and staring dumbfounded, Kit-Kat dangling from their mouth. They snapped out another bite, blinking rapidly. “I, uh, no. He’s new?”

“Quite new; he’s the… hmm.” Muffin paused in the middle of scurrying from the room. “14th? 17th? I’ve rather lost track!” she practically sang, chuckling nervously. Then she hurried out of the room, letting out a relieved breath (and missing Chara’s confused expression).

“I sold 20 spider-bombs today,” Frisk called with pointed glee after her.

“Excellent job, Frisk. Monsieur Tuffet, come out and greet our guests, don’t be shy!” Realizing something, she lifted her hair and carefully looked around her; perhaps he’d been hit by shrinking magic. Alas, nothing. She closed three of her eyes, grumbling mildly to herself. First her _distraction_ continues not to notice her, and now this.

“Guess he’s AWOL, then,” Chara said behind her (Muffet yelped).

“Seems to be,” she replied mournfully.

Frisk, practically attached to Chara’s side, snapped their fingers. “Hey, I know!” Their eyes were bright under their bangs. “Show me how you make the spider stogie,” they said, bouncing on their heels, “and maybe the smell will attract him!”

“There’s an idea. But really, dearie,” she smiled indulgently, “again?” 

“Well, see, Asriel and I have a bet about them. _He_ thinks I’m full of shi… uhhh, snickerdoodles, and _I_ want to win 100g.” They grinned.

“And _I’ve_ been deprived of nose-nuzzling for weeks because of their little spat.” Chara frowned, fussing with their own hair.

“Aw, you _do_ miss it.” Frisk patted Chara’s cheek gently (they scoffed). “It hasn’t been that long…”

Muffet watched the exchange with more than a little interest, her momentary irritation forgotten. Then she said, “How about I make one for you to bring him? Concrete evidence.”

Frisk clapped, beaming.

“Tres bien! Watch closely, then.” Closing her eyes briefly, she called forth a large collection of webbing and spiderlings. Then she used six of her arms-- no, seven, just to show off-- to weave it into an enormous purple cigar in the blink of an eye, humming merrily all the while. It was longer than one of her arms and so thick it was a wonder it stayed in her mouth. (Spider magic was unique, indeed.) As she put the cigar into place with a wink, a spiderling came by with a match.

“The sound of a match being struck echoes from somewhere,” intoned Chara as the match lit up purple. “But you don’t see anything.”

Frisk elbowed them.

The spiderling turned into sparkly cinders from the purple spark as the cigar caught.

“Ta-da~! Please hold your applause.”

Chara looked gobsmacked.

“This one, of course, is pour moi,” she said, each word producing smoke. She produced a more Frisk-sized cigar, though it too had somewhat comical proportions. “Here’s your very own spider stogie, dearie! Oh, I mustn't forget…” She blew a sugary kiss to the cigar, imparting a dash of magic, then popped it into Frisk’s mouth with a giggle (they bowed, puffing rings already). “Now it won’t burn down, or burn you, or burn anything else if you drop it.”

“Oh, no.” Chara groaned, turning away with their hands to their face.

Muffet blinked, and Frisk said “Whassamatter,” sending smoke their way.

“I’m-- dying-- from cute,” they gasped dramatically, clutching their chest.

Frisk tackle-hugged them, giggling madly. “My Cute Charm is super-effective!”

Muffet observed their antics, taking several puffs with a happy sigh. The purple smoke was always pretty, smelling like all the sweet things in the world.

(In the back of her mind, a thought bubbled up. It floated unassumingly, pushed to the side by the others’ voices.)

“Okay, okay,” Chara was saying, stumbling around with Frisk on their back, “I’m sure Muffet didn’t sign up for PDA today.”

Muffet plucked a still-giggling Frisk from Chara with two hands, adjusted the cigar in her mouth with a third, and used another to fluff her hair. “No worries, ma cherie,” she said to them, setting Frisk down with a flourish. “But we have a small mission to attend to, do we not? Since your master plan didn’t come to fruition.”

Chara straightened their shirt. “Ah yes. Off to find mysterious Mr. Tuffet.”

“En avant, les enfants!”

The trio tromped through the foyer, up the stairs, into Mr. Tuffet’s usual room. He wasn’t there.

“Perhaps he’s gone into my web room again.” Muffet fretted, fiddling with her hair. “Oh, that would be a bit of a mess.”

Frisk zoomed ahead trailing smoke like a comet, Chara close behind. “I’ll go look!”

“U-Um, dearie—“ Muffin scurried after both of them, leaping to block the locked door. Chara got out of the way but Frisk got tangled in her hair again. “It’s not safe for humans in there, I’ve told you that before…” Unlocking the door with some hands and disentangling Frisk with the others, she then whipped inside and slammed it behind her, a cloud of purple smoke obscuring her vision from her anxious puffing.

It wasn’t a total lie. This room had a completely spider-oriented aesthetic: webbing on the floor and walls (some full webs, others half-done), on the ceiling (the same), and strings of silk hanging everywhere. Making new webs, tearing down others, reconstructing still others— it was all meditation, keeping her senses and instincts sharp. But it wasn’t as dangerous as she made it out to be (at least for a human with Frisk’s talents); she didn’t want to deal with the mess that would occur from tangling and who knows what else. The main reason, however, was that there were quite a few posters of the Underground’s, and now the Surface’s, biggest self-styled star: Mettaton. (Sometimes Muffet wished she were more open about what she liked, as Alphys was with her shows and… boats? Ships? But Muffet’s situation was rather different.)

She allowed herself a longing sigh toward the newest poster (the purple looked rather nice), then scanned the room. No Mr. Tuffet, but…

A hat rack in the corner caught her eye (far from the only one she had), a small mirror next to it. Mission forgotten, she leapt from web to web to reach it and peruse its contents, which were very eclectic. It didn’t take long; a ruby-red sun hat with a relatively modest brim caught her eye (contrary to popular belief, she did enjoy colors that weren’t purple or black on occasion). Taking it, she looked at the underside. “Oh yes, this will do perfectly,” she said upon seeing the red and white silhouettes of spiders and webs (in keeping with popular belief, spiders and webs were her favorite motif). She eyed the nearest poster of Mettaton, put on the hat, and struck a pose. “What do you think? Chic, n’est pas?” (As the smoke drifted up toward his likeness, a thought from earlier settled more firmly in the back of her mind.) “I think you’d be grand in red yourself.”

She turned to the mirror and put the hat on an angle, then nodded approvingly. “Though I came here for... something else,” she mused while admiring her reflection, wreathed in smoke.

Knocking at the door made her jump. “I, uh, yes?”

Frisk’s voice came through muffled. “Did you find him yet?”

She allowed herself a multiple-palmed forehand smack. “He doesn’t appear to be here, no.” Glaring at another one of the Mettaton posters as though it were at fault, she strode purposefully toward the door--

\--and slipped spectacularly. Her hat and cigar went flying and she lay in a tangle of hair. “Merde!” she hissed, popping up and flinging her hair back in place. Then she examined the floor for the offending object. Something small and colorful. Moving closer, she saw a small pile of sprinkles and frosting; when she looked farther, she spotted some crumbs. As she kept looking, methodically now, she realized the various bits formed a definite line toward the door.

In a flurry, she retrieved her hat and the cigar, still lit thanks to its enchantment, then burst from the room with a delighted laugh (Frisk and Chara narrowly missed getting bowled into the wall). “I have found evidence of Mr. Tuffet’s location,” she proclaimed, putting her sun hat on with a flourish. “Help me follow the trail, dearies!”

“There’s frosting over here,” Chara said blankly, pointing to a smear by their feet.

“Exactement.” Muffin summoned some spiderlings and guided them gently to the floor, where they began cleaning the sprinkles around her and headed into the web room to clean there. More spiderlings followed her, cleaning the smear by Chara.

And so it began. Even a fellow monster might have found it an odd sight: a spider and two sweater-clad humans marching along, staring down at the floor, while hundreds of tiny spiders brought up the rear and disposed of bakery detritus.

The procession traveled through the Explosives Shoppe to the back, through a short corridor to a small room, with a wide door so tall that the existence of magical space-and-possibly-time manipulation in this area was, as Chara put it, “a 99.9% probability.”

“This is Mr. Tuffet’s room,” Frisk said matter-of-factly, “and that’s his door.” The door had a window in it through which a patch of sky could be seen. “Is he really out there, though? Usually he hears us calling from wherever we are.” Pocketing their cigar, they walked over and stood on tiptoes, trying to see out the window; the top of their head barely reached the bottom of the frame.

“Sprinkles,” said Chara, scraping some out of the way with their foot.

“He must be!” Muffet scurried up behind them both. “Don’t be shy. Open the— oh, you can’t reach, can you. Ahuhu, stand aside a moment!”

While the two moved, Muffet closed all her eyes. When she opened them a moment later, they held a soft purple glow. She thrust out two arms with a “Hyah!” and released two ropes of webbing, aiming for the door handle high above them. The webs wrapped around it, and with a flick of her wrists she turned it, then pulled inward.

The door swung open with a heavy groan. A few more filaments reinforced the webbing. Muffet stepped back, the webbing tightened—

“Yahoo~!”

And Muffet released the tension, flinging herself through the doorway and several yards outside with impressive speed, leaving an equally impressive smoke trail in her wake. She landed impeccably with a somersault, all trace of webbing gone, and gave a curtsy to Frisk and Chara’s applause.

“Why walk when you can _fly_ instead, I always say. Ahuhu~”

A walrus-like roar greeted her as a shadow eclipsed her.

Muffet turned with her arms spread wide.“Why hello, ma cherie,” she cooed, plucking the cigar from her mouth and waving it enticingly; Mr. Tuffet rumbled. “No wonder this old thing didn’t work… We’ve been looking everywhere for you. We have a friend who’s been wanting to meet you.” Unable to resist, she turned and smiled glitteringly at Chara and Frisk as they made their way over, the former’s expression slowly gaining surprise and the latter’s betraying nothing.

An intimidating yet somehow cuddly-looking amalgamation of cupcake, muffin and spider, Mr. Tuffet towered over Muffet. He’d reach Asgore’s waist, and was about as wide. His belly was a dark purple cupcake wrapper, his head a muffin top with frosting (a mix of white, lavender and pink), and when he roared again, his mouth nearly split the side of the muffin; rows of sharp teeth were clearly visible.

Chara took all this in as they moved closer. They slowed to a stop within 20 feet of Muffet, shock and awe etched on their face.

“Mr. Tuffet, this is Chara. Chara, th--”

Before she could even think of stopping them, Chara charged and leapt at Mr. Tuffet. A thousand terrible scenarios flashed through her mind--

But Chara hugged Mr. Tuffet. And Mr. Tuffet was… purring?

“I love him,” Chara said, quiet yet emphatic. Then, in a shout, “I _love_ him!”

Muffet and Frisk gave identical sighs of relief; cigar smoke enveloped the pair. Then Frisk wandered over to join the hug by latching onto Chara’s back.

“You are too kind, dearie,” she said, wiping away a pretend tear as she clasped several hands together with feeling. “Although my pet clearly returns the sentiment.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about him before,” Chara said to Frisk, voice muffled by Mr. Tuffet’s side.

“Because this.”

“...Fair.”

Presently, Mr. Tuffet rumbled again. He moved a few steps forward (the humans made zero effort to detach) and extended a leg toward Muffet.

“What is it, dearie?” Muffet blinked, puffing innocently.

He grabbed the cigar from her and tossed it into his mouth, crunching contentedly. Frisk and Chara fell onto the grass from the movement.

Muffet gave an affronted gasp.

“Rude,” said Chara, Frisk still attached to them. They seemed a bit sleepy.

“Mr. Tuffet, you naughty creature.” She stalked up to him, rising to her full height (she got about to where his mouth was). “You _know_ you aren’t supposed to eat my stogies unless I give them to you.”

He honked in a mildly chagrined tone, and seemed to droop a bit. Then he belched, smoke billowing.

“Well…” Coughing a bit, she patted his side and said, “Is it time for a boom-boom?”

He perked, waving two legs and roaring quietly.

“Tres bien, tres bien!” In the space of a few seconds, Muffet made a fresh stogie and slingshotted herself up to Mr. Tuffet’s back, where she lit the stogie and held it near what was unmistakably a candle, a lighter shade of purple from Mr. Tuffet’s wrapping. “You kids want to see something spectacular?” she drawled with a fangy grin.

Chara leapt to their feet, wide-eyed; Frisk looked at them curiously from the ground. “W-W-Wait just a second,” they half-screeched. “Just hang on! You’re gonna blow him up?! Is this about the stogie? How can you do something so—”

Already flailing in panic, the head pat they received from Mr. Tuffet knocked them back down. Frisk helped them up, talking softly.

“Oh!” Muffet laughed in a half-regal, half-embarrassed way. “His soul is perfectly safe, dearie.” Draping herself over Mr. Tuffet and pulling from the new stogie, she continued, “you see, sometimes he gets bored and wants to be remade.” She scratched the back of her neck, then began counting on her fingers. “Well, there have been a few times where his fuse got set accidentally… Sometimes he gets blasted off to who knows where, and sometimes I get famished and swallow him, and there was that time when I didn’t pack up some bombs and he was nearby…”

Shock lit up her face briefly as she realized she was rambling, and she gave a nervous chuckle, rolling onto her back and continuing to gesticulate (the hat stayed on, somehow). “But, but these things happen, ahuhu! The important thing is that he’s the same Mr. Tuffet from the day I first baked him; the numbers are just a way of keeping some kind of track. Besides, he likes to show off from time to time, just like anyone. Don’t you, my love.” She swung down to kiss his face and pet him, murmuring sweetly. “Such a good boy, aren’t you, yes…”

Mr. Tuffet made an agreeing rumble. His tongue lolled out in a dog-like way, and he appeared to be smiling.

“Give maman a kiss,” Muffet cooed.

With a beep, he licked her right up and into his mouth.

Chara looked like _they_ might blow a fuse, and even Frisk looked moderately surprised. “Well, if it’s consensual,” the latter said, and Chara made a kind of choking noise before hiding their face in their arm (which did nothing to disguise their shaking shoulders).

“Well. I should have expected that, I suppose.” Muffet’s voice was barely audible to the humans. “Sweetling, you’re cramping my style a smidgen. Would you be a dear and let me out?”

Mr. Tuffet shuffled his feet, puffed up his cheeks, and spat her out. Chara yanked Frisk to the ground as she rocketed at them and over their heads.

“Muffet’s blasting off again,” Frisk half-sang into the grass.

Chara looked up to see Muffet trailing purple behind her. She waved grandly just before disappearing with an unmistakable twinkle in the sky.

“You’re not kidding.” After a few more uneventful seconds passed, Chara let Frisk up and stood themself, shading their eyes. “Should we go find her?”

Frisk shrugged, picking grass from Chara’s clothes. “She’ll be back any second.”

This was true. Mere moments later, Muffet sailed in from the distance, the cigar smoke making her look even more like a comet. Calling hello as she passed, she grabbed on to Mr. Tuffet’s back and vaulted atop him.

She tipped her sunhat to them. “Now, my dearies, where were we?”

“Kabooming Mr. Tuffet,” Chara supplied. They raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I should even ask, but how the fu-- fudge,” they yelped as Frisk stepped on their foot, “did you get back so fast?”

“I web-launched myself, of course!”

Chara opened their mouth. Then they closed it. Then they opened it again, and tilted their head at Frisk.

“She makes slingshots out of webs,” they explained. “I don’t know how she launches herself, though…” Looking at Muffet, they copied Chara’s expression.

“Well, this time I enchanted the web to stay frozen in launch position and removed the spell once I was ready for takeoff, but there are other ways. However,” she paused to blow a few rings, “I can’t give away all my secrets. Besides that, I do believe Mr. Tuffet is getting a bit impatient.”

He bugled ambivalently.

“Let’s see it, then.” Chara crossed their arms and attempted to look indifferent.

Muffet rolled her shoulders, stretched a few arms, and wiggled some fingers. Then, with a little “boop,” she touched her cigar to Mr. Tuffet’s candle; with a moderately loud pop, the fuse lit.

Hopping down from Mr. Tuffet after a final pat, she scooped up the humans around their waists and took off, saying, “pardon my impropriety but safety first!” She sat them down the proper distance away and covered her ears, just in time for the candle to burn down completely.

Mr. Tuffet’s farewell honk was cut off. A loud boom split the air, a giant purple fireball consuming the space where Mr. Tuffet had been, and several platterfuls of perfectly-concocted cupcakes, eclairs and other pastries rained down, landing all around the trio as the fireball dissipated into smoke.

“It smells like a hundred bakeries,” Chara said, coughing.

Frisk looked dreamy. “Isn’t it wonderful?” They picked up a tiny cupcake at their feet and popped the whole thing, wrapper and all, into their mouth.

“If you like that sort of thing, I guess.” They looked at Muffet. “That was… interesting. But, no offense, you have a pretty fucked up definition of safety first.”

Three things happened quickly: Muffet snapped one pair of fingers, the tip of her cigar flashed purple, and a tiny fireball flew out in Chara‘s direction. Milliseconds later, they were covered in soot and looking confused.

“Language, dearie,” Muffet said reproachfully, at the same time Frisk said in the same tone, “Muffet, that wasn’t nice!”

“What the hell was th-- whoa, okay!” They ducked another fireball (“Muffet, cut it out,” Frisk said loudly), then stood still while Frisk wiped the soot from their face with a handkerchief. “What was that?”

Muffet preened a bit, even while she gave Frisk an apologetic glance. “Another one of my party tricks.” She turned to show her profile, then snapped three pairs of fingers; three times the cigar flashed and three tiny fireballs flew from the cigar. They landed in some nearby rose bushes and promptly set them aflame.

“Whoopsie,” said Muffet, watching with mild disappointment as the bushes turned to ash. “I’ll have to replant those.”

Frisk, unperturbed, cleaned the last of the soot from Chara’s sweater and pants, then folded the miraculously spotless handkerchief back into their jeans.

“If that’s only _one_ of your tricks,” said Chara, “I’ll have to come to a party of yours at some point.”

“I’ll bring a fire extinguisher,” Frisk said darkly, though they no longer looked angry.

Muffet giggled. “Watch your tone, Frisk. If you did that, I just might have to roll _you_ into a cigar and smoke you!”

Frisk laughed it off, only to turn tomato-red when Chara said, straight-faced, “They’d be the sweetest cigar ever.”

“Very true,” Muffet said with a wide smile. “Really, though, both of you will be guests of honor if you do attend. And I promise not to show off too much.”

For about a minute there was silence, broken only by the rustle of Frisk gathering and eating more pastries. Muffet skipped over to retrieve Mr. Tuffet’s soul, which had been floating patiently at ground zero (she dusted sprinkles from her dress). Then Chara, who had been watching the wisps of smoke left behind, spoke.

“You mentioned he gets blasted off sometimes. Besides just exploding,” they said, haltingly. “How in the world…?”

“Why, how serendipitous of you to ask.” Muffin clapped all of her hands, jaunty puffs of smoke billowing around her. “There happens to be a prized possession of mine that will answer your question! Come this way, s'il vous plaît.”

A fence that managed to look quaint despite its imposing height surrounded the yard, black faux-ironwork with a double gate in the center-- a large one for Mr. Tuffet and a smaller Muffet-sized one within it, like a reverse pet door. Through this gate Chara and Frisk followed her, perhaps permanently wreathed in smoke.

“Behold,” said Muffet. The proclamation was entirely unnecessary, as the humans had already beheld what sat in the clearing and were hurrying over to look properly.

A large deep purple cannon occupied the clearing, decorated with copious amounts of glitter which magnified the sunlight shining upon it to near-blinding effect. The base of the cannon was encompassed by the black silhouette of a spider, its legs reaching along the sides and top. Silvery webs in relief were the final touch, as glittery as the rest.

Frisk shielded their eyes and whistled appreciatively. “Did you repaint it?” they asked.

Muffet sidled up to them, idly flipping her sunhat in two hands. “You flatter me, dearie. But non, I am not an artiste unless pastries are involved. Alphys spiffed it up for me! It’s her handiwork, after all.”

“How do you know about all the cool stuff before I do?” Chara exclaimed to Frisk despairingly.

“Not my problem you don’t like Mu-- ow!”

Chara removed their pinching fingers from Frisk’s arm and said in a high voice, “And Alphys made this? That’s incredible???”

“She has a wonderful mind,” Muffet agreed. “I originally planned to use it privately, but Mr. Tuffet also took a liking to it. It’s a handy way to travel, ahuhu~ And there are plenty of test subjects if one knows where to look.” This last was under her breath, almost an afterthought.

“Can I touch it?” They were already reaching, fingers twitching, and at Muffet’s assent they ran their hands over the webbing. “Wow. Honestly, the aesthetic is A-plus.”

Frisk batted their eyelashes. “You have such good taste.”

“Shut up,” they replied happily. A gleam settled in their eyes. “Hey, have you ever…”

“Abso-flipping-lutely!” Frisk grinned. “It’s so cool. Wanna give it a go?”

Despite Frisk’s flirtatious eyebrow waggle, the gleam in Chara’s eyes dimmed slightly. They hemmed and hawed, tracing webs while they did. “I don’t know… I mean, surely this isn’t, uhh.” They glanced at Muffet, attempting and failing a smile. “Is it allowed?”

“Let’s both go in!” Frisk said before Muffet could say anything. “We can both fit, because it’s got a space-messing-with thingy--” (“Trade secrets,” hissed Muffet) “-- and also, I have something from Alphys too.” They reached into their sweater collar and held up a pendant on a cord around their neck, vaguely reminiscent of the Dreemurr family crest with what looked like a ruby in the center. It twinkled comfortingly. “It’ll keep us both safe.”

“But what does it--” Chara blinked at the cigar pushed into their mouth and blushed at Frisk’s expression.

“You’ll see,” the other trilled. After Chara took a few puffs, Frisk took it back and did the same (Chara’s blush intensified) before disappearing it into their pocket again.

“Wonderful,” Muffet said after a few moments of respectful silence. “If it’s been decided, then entre when you’re ready.”

Chara took a deep breath. They took Frisk’s hand. “Okay. Let’s go.” They paused in the middle of climbing into the cannon, a nervous smile spreading. “One question. How fast is the fuse on this thing?”

Muffet leaned in to whisper. “As fast as I want it to be.” The slight menace surrounding her dissipated quickly and she smiled broadly. “Which is as fast or as slow as you’d like, bien sûr! The fuse is made of extra strong silk, after all, _and_ it’s enchanted to burn at whatever speed I choose.”

“Undyne better get in line.” Chara’s voice came muffled out of the cannon. “ _I_ might have to marry Alphys.”

Muffet giggled, then lit the fuse. She held the cigar there as she asked, “Would you like the standard countdown?”

Both of them said yes.

“Very well! Bonne chance, lovelies.” She put the cigar back into her mouth with one hand and covered her ears once more with two others; the lit fuse flickered but didn't burn down until she started counting. “Trois... deux... un.”

With an excellent boom, a green-and-purple comet streaked from the cannon and into the sky.

“See you tomorrow!” Frisk’s voice echoed down, and Muffet waved in reply.

“It’s a two-seater, hmm?” she murmured as she gazed at the comet’s path. “I shall have to experiment.”

The comet vanished with a green-and-purple twinkle, and Muffet sighed in a pleased way. “The best part.” Then, puffing contentedly, she made her way back toward the manse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor, a show-and-tell (of sorts), and a boxing match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when u start thinking up clothes for characters to wear bc your requester wanted certain outfits, but u get Too Into It

On weekends Muffet’s Explosives Shoppe was closed and the pastry side was only open for breakfast. It was a time to tidy up, do ordering and shipping business, and for other sundry things. Currently they were in the pastry side of the shop, on the verge of locking up but distracted by chatting about the rules of their weekly boxing match later.

Perhaps surprising to some, boxing was one of Muffet’s primary hobbies. She had picked it up shortly after leaving the underground, though she had long been intrigued by the various disciplines of Undyne and the Guard. Realizing she couldn’t simply buy three pairs of boxing gloves, she went to Undyne with inquiries, who enthusiastically directed her to Alphys. In short order and with effective collaboration Muffet received (and paid handsomely for, over Alphys’s objections) a set of purple, spiderweb-bedecked gloves which were by now well-broken in, thanks to Frisk’s spirited assistance (and, occasionally, Papyrus’s and/or Undyne’s). As befitting spider royalty, her style was ladylike and graceful. Her favorite finishing move was a graceful six-handed punch which had enough power to launch her opponents into the sky. Gracefully.

“I don’t think this thing can teleport unless I actively think of doing it?” said Frisk, fiddling with their pendent, “but I’ll take it off just in case. I haven’t fully tested its abilities yet.”

“I think that’s a good plan,” Muffet said, holding a hand mirror that she was using to eye the silver jewel-studded tiara she’d just put on (pink, today). “Scientific inquiry needs strict parameters, and… oh, for heaven’s sake.” She huffed, turning to them. “What do you think? Pigtails with this or should I leave them out today?”

“I like the pigtails! Be a rebel. Take it off when we spar, though; I wouldn’t want to wreck it.”

She returned their cheeky grin. “But I’m feeling fancy today. It goes with my new boxing getup, you see?”

Due to a mix-up, Muffet’s new outfit had been delivered to the Shoppe rather than her home. She popped into the restroom to change, far too eager to wait. Like her gloves, it had been a custom order, though not from Alphys. It consisted of a black t-shirt with a tiny white spider silhouette near one shoulder (a good bit more form-fitting than her usual wear), a deep purple skort with faux-lace edging (just long enough to be proper but short enough to allow freedom of movement), and black platform shoes with a spider-web motif (a few extra inches was handy sometimes). Her boxer’s robe was ruby red, with more webbing on the hood and a great black spider silhouette on the back; the words _K.O. Princess_ were written in graceful script above it.

“It’s... very complementary,” Frisk said, tactfully. They were hardly in a position to throw stones. Their outfit, which they hadn’t changed into as it was in the locker room back at the mansion, was comparably loud: their own teal-purple striped tank-top, lime-green shorts they’d borrowed from Chara and “forgotten” to return, and-- a birthday gift from Asriel-- white sneakers with rainbow stars. They fetched a key ring from its wall hanger, twirling it on their pointer. “Let’s go.”

They did not go.

“ _Good MORNING~!”_

The shop door burst open, hit the wall and swung back, only to be stopped by a metal hand.

A smile lit Frisk’s whole face before they forced it away. “H-Hi, Mettaton,” they said, hurrying to inspect for any damage and pausing for a hair ruffle.

“Frisk, darling! How _is_ my favorite human on this fine day?”

“Good. We were just closing up, weren’t we, Muffet?”

If she’d been paying attention, Muffet might have noticed the peculiar emphasis Frisk put on her name. As it was, she had realized her cigar had escaped her mouth and was currently snatching it from the floor. “Ma bonté moi,” she said, fumbling the cigar back to her mouth with one hand and trying unsuccessfully to tie her robe closed with two others. “What a lovely surprise, Mettaton! You’re the last person I expected to see today.” _And I’m inappropriately dressed for the occasion!!!_

“I am nothing if not unpredictable, madam,” Mettaton drawled, walking toward her. “Loving the look, by the way. Looks like you’re ready to do some damage!”

“Th-Th-Th--”

“So sorry to catch you as you were just leaving, but hey, at least I won’t hold up business with a horde of autograph hounds! Silver lining,” he said with a laugh.

On the one hand, she did appreciate his appreciation of her business. On the other, however, _they were alone._ “Thank you!” Muffet finally said, then, “yes, quite true!” She puffed, carefully, trying very much not to hyperventilate.

Frisk shut the undamaged door, dusted the wall, and practically skipped from the room. “I forgot something in the back, don’t wait for me.”

Well. _Now_ they were alone. And the butterflies in her stomach decided to make themselves known. What an odd human phrase that was, and inaccurate besides-- clearly it was spiderlings doing somersaults, what else would it be? She surreptitiously patted her belly, trying to settle them. “What brings your ineffable presence to my humble shop?!” _Inside voice!!!_ “I don’t sell when it’s closed, no matter who walks in. So charm me all you like but it won’t work, ahuhu.” (It would.)

He was looking at her rather distantly. The cigar smoke set off his eye shadow. Then he blinked, shook his head whirringly, and said, “Are you implying I need an ulterior motive to visit one of my oldest friends? it’s been _far_ too long since we’ve seen each other, darling.” With a disarming smile, he added, “Plus, yesterday I smelled a positively marvelous aroma and had to get some help to track it down.” He took a deep breath, smiling wider. “Rather reminiscent of,” he gestured through the smoke, “this, come to think of it.”

Muffet’s brain was running on two tracks: one which was processing Mettaton’s speech in hopes of an intelligent reply, and one which was thinking very hard about a particular word. _Friends_ . That was exactly what they were. They had _history,_ and here she was acting like a besotted flighty schoolgirl instead of the grown-up, composed woman she was. It was, frankly, a wonder that he hadn't called her on her behavior. Back in the day he wouldn't have thought twice about it.

Well, two could play at this game— which wasn’t a game, because they weren’t flirting.

(In truth, she was being much less fidgety than she thought and Mettaton was too caught up in himself to notice anything amiss.

Meanwhile, the thought from yesterday finally burst into her consciousness.)

“Ah, I see,” Muffet murmured, with a theatrical sigh. “You’re interested in my sweets, not me.” Still not flirting, just (graceful) passive-aggressiveness.

“Hardly! Though I do think we’d be marvelous partners.”

Inhaling from her sigh, Muffet startled. She bit down on her cigar. She gave a big involuntary gulp, and down her gullet went the cigar, cherry end first.

Her insides felt somewhat tingly. Perhaps the spiderlings were panicking. 

“Oh, dear.” She hiccuped a smoke ring; half of her mind prayed the pink would hide the bright pink blush threatening to take over her face. “I’m sorry?” Another hiccup, another ring.

“Partners! In business! We’d make a killing! Not literally, of course.” He chuckled, fussing with his lustrous hair. Then he frowned in mild concern. “Are you quite all right?”

“I’m-- _hic--_ just fine-- _hic--_ thank you.” She set about creating another cigar, holding her breath in a bid to stave off the hiccups. “It’s one hundred percent edible.” With a desperate giggle, she popped the fresh one into her mouth, tapping one foot while she waited for a match-toting spiderling. (Sensing her impatience, this one did its job so fast it avoided being incinerated, though a sparkly smoke trail followed it anyway.)

Mettaton’s (beautiful) eyes went wide. “How clever. You have _so_ many talents, my goodness.”

“But really,” she squeaked, after a few puffs, “if I’d known the scent of pastries was an MTT lure, I might have bid adieu to Mr. Tuffet sooner. Ahuhu~”

“Drat,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “you’ve discovered one of my many secrets: I have quite the sweet tooth. How _ever_ shall I gain your silence?”

“A kiss.” She said it blithely. Then her brain caught up to her mouth and she dearly wished to become dust. Her traitorous robe slipped off one shoulder.

“Oh, if that’s all you want.” He leaned closer, eyes sparkling. Then his hands caught two of hers and he kissed the backs of them. “Satisfactory payment, madam?” he said lowly, still in a bow.

Well. She hadn’t expired. _Muffet 1, Mettaton 0._

She hummed thoughtfully, and then chuckled. “My, you were so willing. I should have asked for un peu more.” _Who are you and what did you do with Muffet?_

“Ah, but then you might owe me.” He straightened up, smiling brightly, and waggled a finger at her. “Best be careful. You don’t--” His gaze slid down for a split second and he cleared his throat. Was that a blu-- “If I may,” he stammered, and pulled her robe back onto her shoulder before stepping away.

Muffet felt like she’d been transported to Hotland. Despite this, she somehow allowed a sly smile on her lips and blew a smoke ring in his direction. “Merci, dearie. But please, I’d simply give you a platter of petit fours,” she said airily, finally tying her robe, “and voila, _you_ might owe _me!”_

He gasped. “You wound me,” he said, pressing both hands to his cheeks. “I’m not nearly that easy.” A beat, then, “You’d have to throw in a baker’s dozen and probably some eclairs.”

“I suppose I could find it somewhere within my heart to offer you a discount. You do drive a hard bargain, ahuhu.” She laid a few hands on his arm and shoulder, batting her eyelashes. “But what are friends for?”

He blinked owlishly, and the silence stretched just long enough for her to start internally panicking, when-- “Indeed, indeed,” he exclaimed with a laugh, bringing his free hand up to fiddle with his hair. “Dear me, I did have another reason for stopping by. It slipped my mind…”

_Muffet 2, Mettaton 0._

“Oh!” He snapped his fingers (Muffet almost flinched before remembering) and said, “Yes, I’m putting on a little shindig next month! That was my main reason for coming to see you.” His teeth gleamed as he smiled. “You should absolutely enter! I’d love to see what you can do. “As for Mr. Tuffet,” he continued while she gaped at him, “how is that dear old rascal?”

With effort she let her hands fall from his arm. “Why, he’s freshly baked and feeling fine!” (This was a fib, as Mr. Tuffet was currently having too much fun whizzing about in soul form, but details). A stray hiccup escaped her, causing another smoke ring. “But… I should enter? A party?” _Get it together. Act interested._ “Dearie, you’ll have to pretend I’m not smart for a moment.”

“My apologies.” Laughingly briefly, he put his hands behind his head in a rather fetching way, and he _was_ blushing-- “I’m so eager to recruit you I’ve forgotten the elevator pitch.” He cleared his throat and stood tall, giving a hair flip for good measure. “As you know,” he began sonorously, “the auspicious anniversary of humans and monsters living in peace is coming up once again, and because it’s lucky-ducky number _seven_ this year, I’m heading up a talent show for all our residents to show off whatever they well please! There will be prizes for the top three and the runners up— ah, some combination of cash and prizes, I’ve not yet decided— and of course they’ll be the talk of the town for some time, since it’s a cozy town, you know, never mind the coverage my network will give them. And as I’ve said, I think you’d be a hit. Your cute little pet, too.”

“Well, I, I really must—” She stared at him, blinking and puffing, half of her reeling from this news and the velocity at which it had been delivered, the other half admiring the dreamy look that had begun to take over his face again. “I am intrigued, I must say,” she started carefully, “but might I have some time to think about your… proposition?”

“Of course, Muffie.” He skipped away from the swat she aimed at him for the nickname (if it were anyone else she’d have launched them). “Hypothetically, though, what might you like me to introduce you as?”

She stared. (She was staring too often.) Smoke billowed. “...Je ne comprends pas.”

“Your title! Your moniker!” Mettaton said, arms waving as he made a grand circle. “ _Everyone_ needs one. A little extra something, you know, that lovely phrase you say so nicely.”

“Je ne sais quoi?”

He affected a swoon. “That one. Be still my heart.” Then he snapped to with a gigawatt smile. “So have you any ideas? Just in case you might join in the fun.”

“I know precisely what I’d like my title to be. If I hypothetically entered.” Muffet tapped her tiara. “Princess of the Spiders. Because that _is_ my title, officially,” she said, fixing him with a not-so-accidentally predatory grin.

“Ooh, is that right. Thank you for informing me… your majesty,” he added with a wink. “I simply must ask, though, why not Queen? Surely that’s closer to your station.”

She was positive her blush was visible from space. Sputtering a moment, she finally turned up her nose at him and said, “ _Because_ I would never disrespect my darling spiderlings by placing myself so high above them. Obviously!” She had half a mind (a quarter, really) to snap a fireball at him.

If she’d been looking, she would have seen Mettaton’s expression fall. “Of-- Of course. Clearly I’ve insulted you... You must know I didn’t mean to.” He took one hesitant step toward her, and then the next few more confidently.

She eyed him warily as he moved in front of her, unconsciously settling her cigar more firmly-- and then it was a Herculean effort to hold that expression when he put his hands on her shoulders. They’d always been touchy-feely with each other, or whatever the equivalent of that was back when he was incorporeal, but now? Certain things had _changed._

_Muffet 2, Mettaton 1._

“I didn’t take your perspective into account, you see,” he said softly, face uncharacteristically serious. “Once you said it, it made perfect sense. I’m terribly sorry, Muffet. Will you forgive me?”

It wouldn’t do to answer immediately. But she let some tension out of her stance, and looked at him steadily for a few moments. Then, she said, “Very well. Apology accepted.” Though she couldn’t help a small scoff (which made a very possibly heart-shaped smoke ring). She meant to step back, truly, but his hands were always warmer than she expected, and they felt still warmer through her thin robe, and her muscles didn’t seem to be getting the message.

Thankfully, he stepped back first, with a gentle smile more honest than she’d seen in some time. “Ah, well-- thank you. I’m… glad.” Then his smile leveled up, and he said, “Come to think of it, Princess does suit you better. It’s rather cute.”

“I’d prefer to be elegant,” she replied, over her internal screech.

“That you are! Graceful, too. But,” and he winked again, “you _are_ also cute, and if you don’t like that, put up your dukes.” He adopted a playful fighting stance, only to drop it a moment later. “Or not. Frisk tells me you’re quite the boxing champ.”

“They exaggerate my talents, unfortunately. Not sure I’d be able to compete with your missiles!”

“No worries over that. All you’d have to do is ban them.” He beamed yet again. “I’d follow whatever rules you lay down, Princess.”

 _Tie game_.

“I’ll keep it in mind, then. And I will give due consideration to your… other offer.”

“Excellent,” he crowed, grabbing one of her hands to shake. “I look forward to hearing your decision! And now I must be off. Lots to do, as I’m sure you know. Bye-bye, Frisk, wherever you are.” He tipped an imaginary cap and headed for the door. “Toodles!”

“W-Wait!”

Muffet froze, two arms outstretched toward him. Mettaton froze, half-turned toward her.

“Where... are you off to... exactly?” She pulled the cigar from her mouth with a third hand. Her brain seemed to be operating without her consent and she didn’t want to swallow this one.

“Just back home,” Mettaton said, equally slowly. “True, it’s a hike, but it’s a lovely day.” He turned fully, flashing a smile. “Are we heading the same way? Did you want to escort me~?”

She laughed, a bit loudly, waiting for her brain to clue her in. “It’s not that. It’s just that I… might have a faster mode of transportation. And was wondering whether you’d be interested.”

“You’ve got my attention, then! I’m willing to try anything once, darling, as you know.”

“Grand, just grand.” Slightly calmer, she replaced the cigar and took a few puffs. “Allons dehors!”

Mettaton was blessedly silent while they walked, leaving Muffet with her thoughts. A decision was forming, and this little trip was somehow part of it. _Perhaps… my act… and the cannon…_ Half-finished sentences floated through her mind, and she almost lost track of where they were going.

“Hi guys!” Frisk said.

“We were just wondering where you’d gone,” said Mettaton, over Muffet’s yelp.

“Muffet,” they said, skipping backwards in front of her, “are you showing him the ca--”

“Non, dearie, non.” She gave more nervous laughter. Gesturing vaguely to the copse of trees in front of her, she continued, “He’s the latest recruit to my web launching system.” She nodded firmly, as if to convince herself.

“I have absolutely no idea what that means,” Mettaton said cheerily.

Pushing aside their bangs, Frisk smiled. “You’re in for a treat.”

“Un moment, s'il vous plaît.” She moved away from them both, into the trees. “I usually support my webs by magic alone-- it’s quite simple-- but as you’re a VIP, safety first!”

Frisk snickered; Mettaton gave them a quizzical look.

She was warming up now. _Surely this will impress him._ As she paced among the trees, muttering about degrees and velocity, a eureka moment hit her and she snapped her fingers. A few fireballs smacked into one of the trees, leaving soot marks; she let out a relieved breath that they hadn’t caught.

“Observe,” she said to her audience, and set to work. She released several long anchoring silks that she attached to the upper and lower halves of two trees. Hands on her hips, she stared at them, puffing thoughtfully. She’d done this before, but something was missing… Her creative block had absolutely nothing to do with who was watching, though. (It did. A tiny bit.)

“Frisk,” she said, turning to them. “Be a love and pull up some music for me, will you? Whatever you think fits.”

They gave a thumbs up and searched through their phone. Less than 30 seconds later, [ a jaunty beat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF3reVVUbio) came from their speakers turned all the way up.

“Ah, parfait! Merci.” Humming along, she wiggled out a dance as she eyed the trees more critically. Her robe felt a bit constricting for what she needed to do, but (another blush was forming) was she daring enough to…?

“Au diable avec ça,” she muttered. Untying her robe, she turned and flung it directly at Mettaton with a saucy wink, turning away immediately and taking tiny calming breaths.

He gave a whistle in return, then folded it up and passed it respectfully to Frisk, his face red enough to give off steam.

(Frisk ducked their head, hiding an enormous grin.)

Adrenaline fueled her leap into the air, and she performed a somersault as she shot out more lines that trailed sparkles of magic. Something reminiscent of a web formed, just enough for her to jump onto it and continue her task. She fell into a rhythm, constructing a more elaborate than strictly necessary web with perfectly-timed flourishes. She reinforced it and the support lines, and added a tiny heart in the center. As a final touch, she gave the whole thing an iridescent shimmer.

She was back on the ground by the bridge of the song and doffed her tiara to applause.

“This is all for me?” Mettaton said, staring with awe (and a barely-noticeable pink face). “Whatever have I done to deserve such special treatment?”

 _You haven’t a clue. And I’m not about to give it to you._ “I never thought I’d hear _you_ ask such a question,” she said. “To be quite honest, I could do this in my sleep.”

“She has,” Frisk said sotto voce.

“Step right up and into my domain, good sir.”

“This is bringing back memories.” Mettaton chortled. “Muffet the femme fatale, mistress of all who dared cross her borders!”

“And of donuts,” supplied Frisk, hopscotching in place with excitement while they helped Muffet back on with her robe.

“Really, you two, that was forever ago.” Still, as he got settled into her web, she couldn’t help but reveal a few fangs in her smile. A bit of cigar chipped off from this and she retracted them quickly, stifling a sugary hiccup. “Now for the fine print.” She skipped around to face Mettaton and patted his cheek briefly before she could think better of it. “As you can see,” she indicated the open area with a sweeping gesture, “the way is clear. In that direction lies your domicile. Now I shall simply pull back this web to its limit and you’ll be free as a bird! You’ll be home in no time.”

“Sounds dreadfully exciting.” Was that a tinge of nerves in his voice? “Good thing I had the bright idea to refresh my shields; they’ll soften the landing.”

Her soul jolted. “Oh! Oh, dear, I forgot not everyone has a device like Frisk’s. Perhaps I should--”

“Your shields probably run on similar magic as my pendent,” Frisk said. “You’ll be fine.”

Mettaton nodded. “They’re right.” He took one of her hands ( _but he’d been stuck to the webbing?!?_ ) and squeezed it. “Chop-chop, lovely! I’m ready to fly.”

“All right,” she stammered, scurrying behind the web. She took hold of it with all six hands.

Frisk came up beside her and latched on, smiling winsomely. “I’ll help, not that you need it.”

Humming the song that had accompanied her work, she slowly and steadily pulled back the web. When she could go no further, she said, “Ready?”

“Yes indeedy-do,” Mettaton answered.

“Then I shall see you again soon. Thanks ever so much for stopping by!”

With that she let the web go, stepping daintily back to avoid the ricochet. Mettaton’s boisterous whoop carried back.

“Au revoir,” Muffet sang as he hurtled away. Then she clapped her hands to her head in shock, nearly dislodging her tiara: Frisk was sailing along as well, having been flung straight through the web. She nearly swallowed the cigar again. “Oh, no…! I should go after them.”

Instead, she (gracefully) collapsed into the grass, puffing steadily. “I really ought to,” she muttered, but she felt so tired all of a sudden...

If Muffet hadn’t fallen asleep, she would have seen Frisk veer in another direction at the horizon. After a couple of detours, they managed to teleport back to her general location, which resulted in them ending up on the Shoppe’s roof. They simply parkour-ed down and returned to the small stand of trees. Spotting her asleep, they hurried over to her and patted at her shoulders.

“Je n'ai pas volé les croquettes,” she cried, startling awake. “Frisk, what…” Then it all came back to her. “Apologies for the accidental launch. I thought you were clear.”

“Never mind about that,” Frisk said, shaking their head. “Are you okay?”

“Oui. It seems this day’s events took more out of me than I’d realized,” She gazed at them with a half-smile. “That reminds me. You were suspiciously absent until your shenanigans meter was pinged.”

They couldn’t help smiling back, more fully. “So you noticed. From what I heard, though, the conversation went well! And of course I think it’d be awesome if you were in that talent show.”

“I thought you would say that, dearie.” She gave a smoky sigh. “Perhaps after our match I could borrow you for some time? I… I‘d like to ask your advice on something.”

“Sure thing,” Frisk said. “We’ve got some strategizing to do.” They took two of her hands and helped her up, then matched her steps out of the woods.

(She didn’t see their eyes glimmer with determination.)

~~~~~

Muffet felt quite punchy indeed by the time the pair returned to the mansion.

“I’m glad our match is still on,” said Frisk, jogging ahead toward the boxing room. “Exercise is perfect fuel to get your thoughts organized!” They opened the door for her, then went ahead to the locker room to change.

When Muffet flipped the light switch, floodlights above the arena blazed to life, casting white and purple spider silhouettes over the mat. She left them in “static” mode, as they could be distracting when they tracked across the floor. She then went to don her gloves, getting Frisk to help with the last pair when they returned. They had their own pair custom-made by Alphys too-- a multicolored nebula motif, enamored as they were by space (Asriel’s influence).

Muffet did a few handsprings into the ring, smoke enveloping her, then yanked Frisk through the ropes with some webbing attached to their back. Finally, she took the cigar from her mouth (because swallowing it midmatch wouldn’t do) and, without looking, tossed it into an elaborately filagreed holder. It immediately produced enough smoke to rival a fog machine.

“ _Nice_ upgrade,” Frisk said, nodding approvingly.

“Isn’t it? I was so pleased when I learned that spell I nearly punched a hole in the ceiling!” With a giggle, she settled into a neutral stance.

Frisk mirrored her. “Best of three, right?”

“Erm, how about le meilleur des deux. So as to get to your strategizing sooner?” And to her talk with them. 

“Ooh, I like that plan.”

“All right, mes bébés, count us in.”

A swarm of spiderlings materialized to ring the starting bell, and so it began.

The pair circled each other at first, steeping closer here, testing half-thrown punches there. Then Frisk did some fancy footwork and slipped among Muffet’s arms, landing a chest hit before darting away.

Muffet aimed a swipe and missed, wobbling slightly in her over-reach. She recovered and zipped up to Frisk, getting in a few hits that had them pinned to the ropes.

Or so she thought. Instead Frisk used the ropes to spring high over Muffet’s head, disappearing in cigar fog. (They aimed a punch on their way down.)

Muffet stepped to center ring, gaze roving and ears pricked. A breeze passed over her, and she made to dodge, arms akimbo.

Her tiara flew off her head and out of the ring, landing with a plink. The shockwave from the two-handed punch snapped her pigtails free from their ties, and she found herself hair-blinded.

“What do you think?” Frisk’s voice came from somewhere in front of her. “I just perfected that move that other day.”

“And a bold move it is, dearie.” Flipping her hair away from her face (gracefully), Muffet smirked, her eyes glowing ever-so-slightly. “One you’ll regret!”

She moved for them with impressive speed, hair streaming about. Frisk dodged her step for step, but she had more stamina, powered by righteous fury over her precious tiara being harmed. They stumbled. Muffet snapped up the opening

_Powpowpow_ \-- three hits connected milliseconds apart. With a crack like a [ baseball bat, ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9i4T6nRPC1Q) Frisk flew out of the ring between the ropes, a flaming trail following. 

Muffet laughed in a royal sort of way as Frisk went through the boxing room wall (and two more rooms besides). Spiderlings arrived to patch up the hole(s) but she bade them hold off.

Smoke drew naturally toward the hole in the wall, and Muffet realized it was now difficult to see the ring through all the smoke. Muffet pulled her cigar from the magicked holder, puffing steadily on it while she searched for her hair ties and cleaned up the soot marks from Frisk’s abrupt exit. 

Said human returned by the time she’d fixed up her hair, looking a bit singed but otherwise none the worse for wear. “Thanks for waiting,” they said to the spiderlings, who took that as a green light on repairs.

“Back for more, I see.” Muffet grinned fangfully, replacing the last hair tie.

“It’s one-zero! We’re not done yet.” 

Frisk went on the attack the instant their feet hit the canvas, faking several punches before Muffet was caught off guard by a surprisingly powerful roundhouse kick-punch combo (they were allowed to kick, lacking extra arms).

“One-one,” they hooted.

“Oh, my,” said Muffet, wheezing (politely) as she clambered up the ropes and back into the ring. “I shall have to work on my repertoire. You’ve improved exponentially since our last little main dans la main.”

With a rather mysterious smile, Frisk said, “I’ve been especially motivated lately.” 

The bell rang for the final time.

Both contestants were nearly blurs, dancing around each other and trading inconsequential blows. This went on for several minutes; the spiderlings that had repaired the walls gathered atop the tall corner posts to spectate, well clear of the fight zone.

Frisk ducked through her legs, but Muffet was ready, twirling to face them with her arms up in defense.

“Take this!” they cried.

Her vision went sideways and she staggered from the force of the unseen blow. Suddenly, the wreath of smoke winked out.

“En aucune façon,” Muffet exclaimed, patting at her cigar as if to reset it. Frisk had quite literally punched it out. “Oh, you’ve done it now…”

“Oops,” Frisk said, grinning widely. They were so pleased with themselves they didn’t see Muffet’s gloves take on a purple glow. They did see her advance on them, and quickly adopted a defensive stance.

The defensive stance was not effective.

Muffet struck with all her arms, with vertical power instead of horizontal; with an even louder crack Frisk flew ceilingwards and straight through.

A spiderling bearing a silver and gold filigreed lighter emerged from the crowd on the posts. Muffet took it onto her hand, counted under her breath, then let the lighter click on.

At the exact moment her cigar caught, Frisk twinkled away, _very_ high up. 

A ditty came to her. "Twinkle twinkle, little Frisk. Vers la Lune, by my fist." She giggled.

(If Asriel were there, he’d think the lighter-twinkle combo was an excellent Super Smashing Fighters finishing pose.)

Several puffs and a closed down ring later, Muffet realized Frisk hadn’t come back. She shot a look at the ceiling, brow furrowed. “Est-ce que je l'ai fait..?” Her maternal instinct (which primarily existed for Frisk, though she continually attempted to extend it to Chara and Asriel) was telling her that they were safe. Still, there was a small chance that her instinct was wrong. She didn’t have time to begin worrying, though, because just then her cell phone rang-- the [tinny notes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=33&v=OFgGAVBA2NY) meant Frisk was calling.

“Muffet!!!!”

“Yes!!” she answered after yanking the phone away from her ear.

“You won’t believe what happened!!! I’ll be right there!!”

They burst into the room minutes later, talking at warp speed. “I was totally fine, I think the comet from your punch protected me and also Azzy’s pendent because I put it back on when I went through the walls, that’s how I got back so fast, but oh my god I saw the stars and the sun and also maybe a plane I can’t believe you actually did it Muffet you’re _amazing_ —”

Muffet spoke when their words had morphed into quiet squees. “You mean… I performed a successful stratosphere punch?”

In answer, they held their palms out for a high five.

“Je l'ai vraiment fait!” she shouted, grasping Frisk’s hands and whirling about with them. “And I have you to thank, darling Frisk!”

“You just needed the right motivation!! I knew you could do it!”

Spiderlings repaired the damage while the two danced.

“I must let Mr. Tuffet know,” Muffet said, accidentally twirling Frisk into a wall.

“Mr. Tuffet!” Frisk bounded from the wall and sped away. “I have so many ideas for your act, I have to write them down right away!”

She was left staring at their dust cloud. “Ah. Yes. The talent show.”

 _Mettaton’s_ talent show.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love advice, collaborative brainstorming, and party games that get slightly out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I mention I have no regrets? lissen it's not my fault The Kids commandeered this chapter

After Muffet washed and changed, she found Frisk in one of the sitting rooms, several pages into their notebook and still furiously writing. She did her best not to loom out of anxiety.

When they set their notepad aside with finality, Muffet took a breath.

“I was hoping that I could situate you in one of my webs while we chat,” she said in a flippant tone, but she stood a bit smaller than usual. “For,” she gestured vaguely, “atmosphere.”

“If you’re worried I’m too hyper to listen or I’ll be upset or something, you don’t have to be. And I promise I won’t laugh, either! So I’d be fine talking to you, you know, unwebbed.”

“Oh, no, dearie, it’s not any of that.” She smiled wanly, reaching to place an affectionate hand on their head. “Rather, it would help me clear my head. Get in the right mood, if you will.”

They gave a thumbs up, expression serious. “Gotcha.”

And so, she brought them to a small room in the east wing and settled in. Two anchor threads and a cheeky backflip into the web by Frisk later, Muffet was affecting an evil grin (well, not really _affecting_ one) and stalking toward them in the dark, her eyes given an eerie glow, this time from the bright light of her cigar. “Oh, my,” she crooned, smoke billowing ominously, “you’ve fallen into my trap. Prepare to be gobbled up, dearie.”

“Not a chance!” Frisk attempted to make a fighting pose, but only got stickier (it was best they hadn’t changed out of their boxing outfit, she supposed). “I have a donut, somewhere, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Muffet gasped. “À Dieu ne plaise!” The exhale shrouded Frisk in purple smoke. “You’ve found my weakness.” Having reached the web, she began adjusting, reinforcing, and generally fussing with it. “In that case, I must call a truce for now.” She took a seat on the floor, being sure to take care of her skirts.

The act over, Frisk began kicking their heels (as much as was possible when stuck to a web) “Not that I care where we do this,” they said, “but wouldn’t it make more sense to have a web in the web room?”

She was thankful that humans couldn’t see well in the dark. A fierce blush warmed her face at Frisk’s question. “Ah, well, the web room’s in a terrible state–” _of too many Mettaton posters_ – “and besides, what better way to anoint this new one, ahuhu~” 

Frisk made a pleased noise. “I _thought_ this was a new room.”

She clapped with the hands that weren’t currently occupied with fiddling with the web. “How astute of you. The whole wing has been refreshed, actually; this is just the newest addition.” She leaned in and spoke in a low voice. “In fact, that’s why I made Mr. Tuffet dix-sept. Or is it vingt.” Shrugging, she released a few web-like smoke rings.

Frisk nodded. “Didn’t feel like exploding the whole mansion this time?”

“It felt like too much trouble. I’ve tried to keep destroying the whole thing to once or twice yearly, actually. New Year’s resolution, you see. Including the Shoppe.”

“Oh, really?” Their tone was wry. “How’s that working out for you?”

Some sad-looking rings escaped. “It… may have to be a seasonal resolution. But you see,” she went on quickly, absently pulling on the web, “unlike this wing, the Shoppe wasn’t intentional! My oven wasn’t working, and I poked around to check why, and, well.” She indicated her cigar, rolling her eyes mildly. “Apparently, there’d been a gas leak. Thankfully, the shields I had up bounced me out of harm’s way...” She hummed happily. “It made a positively magnifique explosion! It was even on the news for a while.”

“I saw,” Frisk said, wiggling excitedly. “The pictures those space satellites picked up were so cool! And, _also_ ,” they blew their bangs away with a frustrated huff, “I _told_ Chara and Azzy the wing was new this summer but they didn’t believe me!”

Muffet tittered and pinched their cheek. “Well, not everyone is as sharp as you.”

They frowned, then, and pushed her hand away. “Could you please not put my datefriends down like that.”

“Oh!” One free hand tugged at her pigtails in distress. “Je suis desole, darling, I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me.”

They pursed their lips a moment before nodding. “Try to think about it next time.”

“I suppose I shan’t put this conversation off any longer,” she said, sighing smokily. “As you may have deduced, recently it seems I’ve been having difficulties keeping Mettaton from my thoughts. Whatever feelings I have toward him have… developed. Now, I don’t want to push myself on someone who doesn’t feel the same about me.”

“That’s a good instinct to have.”

“Let me, how do you say, take the brass tacks. If my hunch isn’t false, I believe you have two people you are… romantically involved with?” she tried, puffing nervously.

Frisk’s lips quirked. “Me calling them my datefriends probably confirmed your suspicions.”

“C’est vrai. And so I’ve brought you to this humble lair to tell me your secrets of love!” She gave a princess-esque evil laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her. “I imagine you must be tout charmante to have double the people under your spell.”

“Uh, well… It’s really not that simple.” Frisk smiled in a sort of apologetic way.

“That’s quite all right,” she said with a toss of her head. “Tell me all you can, anyway.”

“You know Chara and Azzy are together too, right?”

“I made an educated guess…”

Frisk continued, with her smoke clouds as punctuation. “Okay, so obviously communication’s a must in any good relationship. But with more than two people it’s even _more_ important. I do appreciate your faith in my, um, romantic prowess,” their cheeks darkened, “but it wasn’t all on me. And there was– is– work involved. Not a two-way street as much as a… really busy five-point intersection. We all love each other a lot, though.” Their eyes went distant, and an incredibly soft smile lit their face. “So we all work together. Um, don’t get me wrong!!” They might have flailed if not for the web (which had gradually been gaining tension, a fact that both of them remained unaware of). “We fight over the dumbest shi… stuff. And serious stuff, too, sometimes. Each of us has different history with the other two. But we at least _try_ to talk things out.”

They fell silent. Muffet waited, still unconsciously tugging on the web.

“So,” they said quietly. “I don’t know if that was any help. It’s the truth, though.”

“Merci, dearie,” she said, puffing thoughtfully. “It was of some help, if only because I had an inaccurate conception of your relationship. I certainly know I’ve been lax in the communication department.” A rueful laugh produced broken smoke rings.

“That’s not totally your fault. I mean, Mettaton is Mettaton–” they emphasized this by raising their eyebrows– “and you’re pretty busy, too. Actually, I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Ask away.”

“Have you considered that part of the reason why you like Mettaton might have to do with fame? And, you know, all the stuff that tends to come with fame?”

If they could have pulled some gold out of their pocket, they probably would have. Muffet hid a laugh behind her hands. “I have indeed. I’m rather embarrassed to confess I’ve had ample time to consider everything surrounding the… issue,” she said, nodding to herself. “But, ma coeur, Mettaton and I have years of history; we were friends when he was still a ghost with a dream. Did I ever tell you,” she said, smiling cheekily, “the two of us were in a band with Napstablook and Shyren in our younger days? I played drums! I was surprisingly good, if I do say so myself. Though I was the only one with multiple arms, so I suppose I had an advantage…”

“No way! That’s amazing!!”

She grinned. “We even made posters. Remind me and I‘ll show you sometime.”

Frisk nodded, but they appeared to be puzzling over something. “So… You knew each other long before I showed up. And both of you tried to kill me…”

“True.” She removed the cigar, lest she start again with the nervous puffing. This was going… somewhere.

“Oh my god wait. _That’s_ why you were gonna kill me! You were friends and in cahoots and maybe you even had a bet going and–"

Cautiously, she put the cigar back. They seemed almost happy about their realization.

“And he paid me,” she squeaked out.

This was drowned out by Frisk shouting, “Maybe he even _paid you._ ”

"You’re right. He did pay me a tidy sum. I'm not proud of it, dearie," she said with a haughty sniff. "But of course, the kindness you granted my spiderlings took precedence. I'm not Princess of Spiders just because, ahuhu~"

“Who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t bought those donuts!” Frisk was nearly vibrating the whole web in glee.

Puffing merrily, Muffet said, “You’d most likely have had a very different impression of Mr. Tuffet, for one thing.”

“That’s true… I’d probably love him even more than I do now!” Frisk said this with a wide grin. Then, like a switch had been flipped, they became serious. “You’re right that I don’t know much about your history with Mettaton. All I know is that there’s a chance he’s changed now. You might have to be more direct about your feelings for him than you’d like to be.”

Muffet hummed ambivalently. “You have a point.” With a room-filling sigh, she added, “You really are quite astute about these things, Frisk.”

By now, she’d stopped fussing as much with the web. A spare hand, however, hadn’t ceased pulling down on it, and it was slowly moving into a slingshot-esque position. Neither the spider nor the human noticed, each with their own thoughts.

One particularly large, shiny thought arrived in Muffet’s mind. “I’ve made my decision,” she announced, suddenly and firmly. She gave a determined yank on the web. “I’m going to enter that talent show of his!”

Frisk would have clapped if they could. Instead, they whooped, wiggling a bit. “That’s great! Oh my gosh, we have to start planning.”

“With my elegant and graceful abilities, I’ll make him see me differently! Surely then I can capture his heart.”

(A tiny alarm sounded for Frisk, but they mustered enthusiasm.) “It’s as good a plan as any. And with me helping out, you won’t fail. And Asriel and Chara will love being accomplices! As soon as I convince them.” That last part was so fast it sounded like one word.

“You are a _darling_.” Muffet gave a (unbeknownst to her) final tug on the web. “Yes, with our combined power, we’ll be invincible!” She held all her arms high in a victory pose.

This meant she let go of the web, and _that_ meant that all the tension was released at once.

The accidental slingshot fired Frisk straight up. (Muffet didn’t bother with attics, still preferring basements.) “I don’t think this was part of the plan!” they yelled as they left a Frisk-shaped hole in the roof.

Muffet watched, glued to the spot as the purple twinkle pinged into existence. “...Damn. Pas encore,” she muttered, with a put-upon sort of sigh. Thankfully her slingshots were much less powerful than her punching.

Frisk’s ringtone sounded, making Muffet jump. She ruffled through her ruffles in search of her cell phone. “Bonjour?”

“Hi, Muffet.” Frisk’s voice was loud and clear. “That was a particularly sneaky slingshot!”

“I didn’t intend to do that,” she exclaimed. “Well, not this time. Bending to grab her dropped cigar, she said, “I must have gotten into a think.”

She could almost hear them shrug. “I sort of retroactively expected it, since it’s been a few days since that last one. Anyway, I wanted to call you because I’m gonna use that pendent Alphys gave me again. Now that you’ll be in the talent show no time should be wasted. See you soon!” 

~~~~~

Muffet’s phone pinged with Frisk’s text tone a few minutes later, shortly after the spiderlings who’d appeared to fix the hole in the roof had gone on their merry way. 

**You might wanna stand back.**

Question-mark shaped clouds emerged from her cigar. **_Thank you for the warning._**

Precisely two seconds after she had sent her reply, Frisk appeared next to her, accompanied by a small wave of static electricity. “Good thing I had this!” they said, casually dusting their hands. They pulled their pendant from under their sweater and watched its glow fade. “I never know when it’ll come in handy.”

“Indeed,” said Muffet from where she’d fallen on the floor, surrounded by smoke from her shocked breaths. “On that note.” She stood, primly fixed her hat, cigar, and dress, and said, “It sounded like you have some ideas for me.”

Frisk did indeed have quite a few ideas. They heartily recommended Papyrus should be part of the discussion. They thought that her bombs should be a centerpiece and that not utilizing the cannon would be “a crime”. What, precisely, to _do_ with the bombs and cannon, they didn’t yet know.

“But that’s what our talent show meetings will be for. We could have them at your place, so there could be snacks, and maybe you could do some party tricks even though it’s not a party, and I’ll have to ask Ree and Chara who they think should be involved…”

And so it was decided that Muffet would hold a gathering of her planning committee of greatness (an unofficial title, courtesy of Papyrus) at the mansion. The first round took place on a Friday, in case there was an overflow of enthusiasm that carried through the weekend. Muffet was curious about precisely how Frisk brought Asriel and Chara into the fold, but it wasn’t her place to pry. Then Chara pulled in Undyne (?!) who convinced Alphys, and since Papyrus was there Sans tagged along (though he spent most of the time asleep). Muffet made cupcakes for the occasion and was quite careful with her cigar, as rebuilding anything would take away precious time. Even for a rush job, she was pleased with them. They were a mix of chocolate and gold, with purple, black, and white icing, decorated with edible cartoon bombs and– naturally– spider silhouettes. Frisk and the others took care of snacks without being asked.

Chara had brought possibly a metric ton of pocky; somehow, the pocky served a second purpose as a talking stick of sorts, which occasionally halted the discussion by being eaten. Since it was Muffet’s act, the group deferred to her ideas, but she made it clear that she was looking for a collaboration. Presently the group had scattered after spirited discussion, with the humans and Alphys clustered around the dining table, Asriel doodling on the whiteboard while Monster Kid chattered away, and Undyne finally losing the fight against her burning desire to give the boxing ring a safety inspection.

Muffet was feeling especially energized, because barely ten minutes ago she had returned from another cannon trip. She was so used to its presence and Frisk’s knowledge of it that she’d forgotten quite a few of her friends, and their friends, had either not seen it in use or had no idea it existed. Alphys had a few questions, Frisk overheard, and things snowballed to the point of forming an impromptu demonstration. Frisk, their datefriends, a rabbit child whose name Muffet couldn’t recall; Alphys and Undyne, Papyrus, and even Sans– all gathered to admire the cannon and lob questions. Muffet couldn’t stop the warmth in her soul for Frisk, who spontaneously decided to treat the endeavor as a grand event, giving a speech praising Alphys for her ingenuity. She had hoped her bombast and sense of style might rub off on them, and so it had.

About halfway through the proceedings, Asriel, sheepishly, went back to the mansion to join M.K. (who had been oblivious to said proceedings) in watching the imminent Super Smashing Fighters championship livestream that apparently was starting any minute. Chara had been recording on their phone since the start, so Muffet was (relatively) unbothered. 

That settled, Frisk stepped onto a crate they’d brought out. “And now,” they intoned, waving about a lit purple match half as tall as they were (not including the top hat they’d found somewhere), “the Madame shall climb into her cannon…”

After adjusting the cannon’s angle, she did, with few tricks. This was rather Frisk’s show.

“Behold the lighting of the fuse!” (It was an especially sparkly lighting.)

Muffet giggled to herself as the sizzling grew louder, remembering to cover her ears as Frisk advised the crowd to do so.

“Fly, Madame! Fly beyond the horizon!”

_Ambitious of them,_ she thought. _I’m not sure this yet has the power_ –

With a mighty boom, she took flight as planned, the pink smoke her comet tail. Applause echoed up from below. She waved down at the crowd, then took in her flight path.

_The horizon it is! Un beau voyage pour moi…!_

(Down below, Chara had tracked Muffet’s departure from the cannon. The twinkle, while not as bright as the previous one they witnessed, still whited out their phone. They made sure to record several seconds after the glow faded, sneaking a close up on Frisk.

“well,” said Sans, through Papyrus’s applause and Undyne’s whoops. “how bout that.”)

She went so far that it had taken a bit extra effort to return to the mansion. She was pleased to see that planning hadn’t slowed down a bit with her absence.

The sweet scent of the constant cigar smoke lent an… interesting flavor to some of the refreshments. At this moment Muffet had gone to the kitchen to stock up on said refreshments (and make a new cigar; she’d smoked one down entirely getting back from her cannon flight), as well as to check on Mr. Tuffet number something. 

“Hello in there, ma cherie,” she crooned, whipping up another cigar. She set it aside before moving to the oven, lest she repeat another explosive mishap.

To call it an oven seemed less than apt, but no word existed that fit it better. Muffet’s kitchen was far bigger than she would ever need, for the sole purpose of housing said oven. (There was also a human-sized oven tucked against the far wall; sometimes Frisk and others liked to cook.) Tall enough that it nearly reached the impossibly high ceiling, the oven was a freestanding black, hulking presence, with faux iron-wrought handles, red knobs the size of small rocks, and a tempered glass door that showed hellish levels of flame when on. 

The various noises and songs emanating from within while Mr. Tuffet was remade were also unsettling for those unaware.

She attached web pulleys to the door handle and pulled it open a quarter or so, then clambered up to peek inside. “A bit longer to bake, my dear monsieur.” Nodding sagely, she shut the oven and hopped down. “Your extra explosives need time to set properly, after all, ahuhu~ What do you say to some new icing designs to go with them?”

Mr. Tuffet plonked agreeably.

“Wonderful! It shall be so.”

She moved to pick up her cigar and frowned when she saw it had gone out. A beep came from the gargantuan oven. “Oh, no, dearie, I know it wasn’t you,” she said, skipping over to the human-sized stovetop and climbing up to switch on one of the burners. The cigar caught with a satisfying whoosh of flame, and she made to hop back down to the floor when she realized she hadn’t shut off the stovetop. “Oopsie, ahuhu. Don’t have time to re-re-renovate the kitchen today!”

When she turned from the stovetop, she saw Papyrus guzzling peppermint tea. She’d have to order more from Lord As– er, Asgore’s tea shop.

She was about to ask how long he’d been there when he said, “How convenient we’ve run into each other!”

“Is it?” she said finally, when he didn’t elaborate.

“Yes.” He set the empty glass down with slightly worrisome gusto. “I wanted to talk with you privately. Everyone’s so excited I couldn’t put my thoughts together.”

“I’d love to hear whatever thoughts you’ve gathered,” she said gaily. “You all should have your voices heard.”

“Firstly!” Suddenly he was now standing on the counter, cape fluttering although there was no breeze. “I agree with Frisk about using your own bombs in the show. It’s great advertising and it’s also of the utmost importance to use whatever you feel most comfortable with!! Secondly!!!” One arm shot up, narrowly missing the chandelier (it was very expensive, and the momentary fright set off hiccups for Muffet). “I have a Very Important piece of information. I, the Great Papyrus, am also a champion thrower of bombs!” He paused, one eyebrow raised. “Actually!! A champion thrower of baseballs which will translate well into throwing Other Round Things. And I also have Explosion Experience! And so–”

He landed on the floor with a thud and traipsed to Muffet, forehead colliding with her freshly made cigar. Wiping away sugary ashes along with her apology, he said, “And so I offer my services to you as a Great Assistant in your Great Act.”

Mildly dizzy from all the Capitalized Words, Muffet tilted her head appraisingly. “My assistant?” A confused hiccup left her. “As much as my act would surely benefit from your presence, I must say I’m un peu surprised you wouldn’t rather have an act of your own.”

“Seven is not a lucky number for me,” he said, his briefly serious tone at odds with his seemingly permanent smile. “Besides!! You are my friend, and this is my chance to help one of my friends who I have not helped much!!! So what do you say?!”

Whatever she’d wanted to say came out as a hiccup. “Papyrus, you are very sweet. Almost as sweet as my cigars.” She giggled, hiccupping more. “My answer must be– _hic!_ Ah, not that.” Removing the cigar, she smiled wanly and said, “Please excuse me.”

Then she turned aside and delicately spat out the cause of her hiccups, a Froggit which she had encountered some time ago.

Blinking confusedly, she replaced the cigar. “Ahuhuhu, whoops. Forgot about that little incident.” She aimed a graceful kick–

Papyrus brightened. “Hello, Elly!”

–and punted the Froggit through the kitchen window.

“Goodbye, Elly!” Papyrus waved.

(The twinkle was slightly dimmer due to decreased velocity, she noted.)

“My answer to your offer–”

“Drat,” Papyrus exclaimed. “I forgot I had something I wanted to ask them.”

“D-Did you, dearie,” Muffet chirped, flicking away a sweatdrop.

He shrugged. “I’ll catch up with them later. You were saying?”

“I would have beaucoup de bonheur to have you as my talent show lieutenant.”

“Yay!” He just missed getting poked by her cigar again as he gave her a tight hug. “I will make the announcement to the others!!”

She smiled after him as he ran off, then picked up the snack tray and followed sedately.

“Muffet!!!” Undyne said as soon as she entered the room; she bounded over, just missing a cigar collision, and slung one arm around Muffet’s shoulder while taking the snack tray with the other. “Why didn’t you tell me you were such a badass?!? My girlfriend gave you a kickass cannon and now _this?_ ”

“You’re back,” she said, unable to think of anything else.

“Huh?” Undyne set the tray down. “Oh, yeah! Couple of your ropes were loose but everything else is in _pristine_ condition, also we should fight sometime, also seriously you’re such a badass like what the hell???”

Her rapid-fire speech didn’t clear anything up. But she was pulling Muffet along while she talked and presently Muffet could see Frisk and the others were looking at That Poster.

“...I have questions,” she said, and the way Asriel looked at her made her realize she might have sounded a _bit_ menacing.

“I found it,” Frisk said before she could ask. “I went to the bathroom or, uh, tried to? You must have renovated something because I ended up in a closet instead, and I found this there!” They smiled winsomely. “Thought I’d save you the trouble of digging it out.”

“Oh, well then.” She laughed and patted them on the head half-heartedly, pulling her bitten-through cigar from her mouth. “I thought perhaps you were naughty and scuttled off to the web room.”

“Is that where you keep posters or something?” Chara asked around a mouthful of picky.

“Of course not, dearie!” She flung her arms wide as she said this; her cigar hand bonked Undyne in the face. “That would– terribly sorry– that would be silly. Ahuhu~”

“S’cool! You’re still badass!” Undyne sat, grinning toothily. Then she reached for the cupcake tray and ate two whole, wrappers and all.

Panic over, Muffet was able to get a good look at the poster. She’d honestly forgotten about it; she might well have been gazing at herself in a parallel universe. It was part of a series of solo posters made during her time as bandmate to Shyren, Blooky, and Mettaton (she briefly wondered if the other had kept theirs, and where the group versions might be).

The poster had an artfully shadowy filter on, but it didn’t obscure the glitz that radiated from the shine of the silver spider motif over the massive drum set, the glitter-covered cymbals, the studs on her leather jacket. Her hair was loose, a wild mess of curls and waves, and the long cigar (ah, she had started back then) in her mouth was black and looked as wickedly sharp as the drumsticks in all her hands. The rest of her outfit wasn’t visible, but the memories struck her; some kind of graphic tee, a fitted black skirt, and perhaps even stiletto boots…

“Where’d you even get human clothes?” Monster Kid was saying; the others were clamoring and shouting questions too, but Muffet’s mind was on fashion and put a spotlight on M.K.

“We had our ways,” she said, forcing a smirk to match the one on the poster, and also to hide the fact that she had no recollection of how. There was the garbage dump, of course, and she vaguely recalled being somewhat arts-and-crafty, and Mettaton had certainly been interested in fashion then–

“Hey, Frisk, catch!”

Her train of thought was interrupted by something sailing over her head, and Frisk’s excellent catch of the object.

“Sorry, Miss Muffet,” said the rabbit child behind her (Franklin? Frances?). “I didn’t see you.”

“Not a problem, dearie!” She turned and patted their head. “Though if you’re trying to start a game perhaps you’d better go outside. You’re in our planning room.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” said Chara as they zoomed past. They snatched the object, which now looked suspiciously familiar, away from Frisk and reached an even more impressive speed. In a blink Frisk, Monster Kid, and the rabbit followed.

“The hell,” Undyne muttered. “Uh, guys, we’re in the middle of something here!?”

“Kids will be kids,” Muffet said with a giggle. “You all carry on, I‘ll be back rapidement! I, er, think I heard the oven timer.” This was a ruse; Mr. Tuffet needed at least twenty minutes more.

She power-walked as elegantly as she could from the room, breaking into a run for the outdoors as soon as she was out of sight. The object Francois (?) had found was a bomb, she’d realized, one of the new ones that could, possibly, maybe, self-light its fuse.

It would be a good idea to keep an eye on them, that’s all.

Shouting and general merriment could easily be heard before she opened the side door to the yard. Flinging open the door and rushing out, Muffet saw they were in a haphazard square, when they weren’t attempting to tackle each other. 

“Don’t worry,” M.K. called to her, “we got this.” They leapt to headbonk the definitely-lit-fuse bomb toward Frisk.

“No, _I_ got it!” Chara hip-checked Frisk and caught the bomb, tossing it to… oh, _Harriet_.

Harriet caught it with a flourish, threw it back to Frisk, and so on.

“Dearies, that’s a dangerous weapon you’re playing with.” Muffet approached Frisk from behind carefully, resisted the urge to cigar fireball them all and punt the bomb away.

“It’s not lit, though,” Chara said, effortlessly sidestepping Frisk’s tackle to throw to M.K.

“But– it’s a new experiment,” Muffet said, laughing nervously. She paused behind Frisk, wincing as they made a catch and passed it on. “It’s a self-lighting bomb.”

“Huh?” M.K. said, mid-headbonk.

“It’s a what now?” Chara asked as they caught it. Automatically, they heaved it toward Frisk, who happened to be the target of a tackle from M.K. at the same moment. The bomb flew over them both.

“Oh, merde!” Muffet cried.

The blast (filled with glitter, she noted distantly) sent her flying at what felt like an impressive trajectory, probably toward the mansion. Desperately, she spent a bit of magic to boost herself higher and a bit to the right.

Down below, Frisk and company saw a gracefully curved azure comet just miss the mansion and ping into a star.

“That’s amazing,” Harriet exclaimed, hopping in excitement. “Does she always do that?”

“Depends how you define always,” Chara said, glancing at Frisk.

Frisk stayed passive. “She’ll be back soon…” They shaded their eyes at the sky, tapping their foot. “We should probably figure out some way to apologize.”

Chara looked pained. 

“Nah. Let’s just go back in,” said M.K.

“And join the others,” Harriet continued. “I’m sure if we make headway on actually planning Miss Muffet will be proud of us!”

And so they did, in varying moods. Undyne gave them all her patented noogies upon return, and they briefly forgot about the incident.

Until Muffet came back, slamming open the doors with righteous power, azure smoke enveloping her ominously.

A hush fell.

“hey,” Sans said, fiddling with a marker. 

“It was my idea,” said Chara loudly, running over with arms spread wide.

“But I found the bomb! It was really my fault,” Harriet protested, tugging M.K. over along with Frisk.

Their clamoring was cut off as Muffet swept them into a multi-armed hug. “Mes petits chéris,” she said, cooing. “You all have given me a magnifique idea for my act!”

“We did _what now?_ ” Chara squawked out from underneath her hair.

“I knew it had to involve bombs in some capacity, and of course lighting the fuses should be part of the spectacle,” she continued, twirling the group about, “but mon dieu, self-lighting bombs open up a world of possibilities! Ah, the ideas are raining down!” With a delighted laugh, she scurried to the whiteboard (M.K. tumbled into a corner, Harriet fell onto Frisk, and Chara methodically began dusting webs off themself).

“I will help catch those ideas,” exclaimed Papyrus, leaping over the table instead of walking around it, Undyne hot on his heels.

Asriel sat next to Sans, eating cupcakes and watching the proceedings with a dazed expression. “What even is happening right now,” he said through a mouthful.

Sans shrugged. “i hear it’s called artistic inspiration. think the technical term is ‘stay out of the artist’s way’. frankly, i’m surprised we’re at this point already. guess i’m good luck.” he winked.

Asriel scoffed, picking up another cupcake. “You and me both, since neither of us have actually done anything.”

“hey, someone’s gotta eat all these tasty comestibles. and moral support is a thing.”

Asriel muttered noncommittally, then got up to remove the snack tray. 

#####

The next day found Muffet rising much earlier than usual, fueled by the leaps in progress achieved last evening. Despite the clouds it was a bit warm out, so her hair was in its usual pigtailed style, and she donned a purple sundress with tiny white spider silhouettes, selecting a white sunhat with a massive brim and red ribbon covered in more spider silhouettes (multicolored this time) to complete the look. The usual cigar was in her mouth, the smoke enchanted green just because.

Aimlessly wandering the grounds, the sweet smoke drifting skyward, she allowed her mind to wander as well. A song came to mind, and she hummed it quietly, beginning to waltz with a not-so-imaginary partner. Mettaton was a great deal taller than her; she’d have to wear heels if they ever danced together.

A thought struck her. She whipped out the pad of paper and a pencil she had pocketed for just such a situation and wrote down the song she’d been dancing to. One of her favorites– it _had_ to be the soundtrack for her act!

Pen and paper tucked safely away, she sang joyously, launching into a spirited series of cartwheels; what better time to start training? She’d gotten a fair distance along with them toward the woods, adding in some handsprings, when a voice came distantly _from_ the woods.

She pulled off a triple forward somersault, landing lightly on one leg, and tried to pinpoint the voice’s location.

“Muffet!”

Frisk burst into view from behind a tree right near her and tackled her easily.

“You rascal,” she exclaimed, laughing as they tumbled together. She used the momentum to flip Frisk into the air, where their sweater snagged on a tree branch.

“Je suis desole,” she said as she got up. “I’m full of vim and vigor today! As are you, it seems. You’re up rather early.”

“I forgot our boxing match was canceled for planning and didn’t feel like going back to sleep,” they said, a smile on their face as they swung back and forth. “Glad I ran into you! I need your help.”

“Of course, dearie.” She shot out some webbing at Frisk and yoinked them from the branch, applauding their minor ninja roll to the ground.

“Thanks, but that’s not what I meant.” Tapping their foot, Frisk gazed into the woods anxiously. “Where are– oh my _god_ you’re so _slow_.”

Muffet turned to see Chara, Monster Kid, and Harriet emerging from the trees.

“You’re too fast,” Chara said, frowning. “Also, we’re doing this wrong already; we’re supposed to split up.”

“No, guys, I have the perfect hiding place!” Frisk turned to Muffet, hands clasped. “Can you swallow us so we can hide in your stomach?”

Muffet beamed. “Absolument, dearie!”

“Maybe consult with us first,” Chara said, voice cracking. Harriet looked pensive, while M.K. looked eager.

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Muffet, spreading her arms placatingly. “I’ve carried many a creature around for various and sundry reasons, and it’s quite separate from swallowing to devour. Plus, magic allows me to look perfectly normal; no one will know I have cargo.”

M.K. spoke the instant she stopped. “It’s fine, we have to hurry, Papyrus will be here any second!”

Chara groaned resignedly.

Harriet stepped forward, hands clenched. “I’ll go first.”

“Wonderful!” She waited for Harriet’s assenting nod before moving closer and swallowing her up effortlessly.

“It’s like the pink blob from that one game,” Chara said, a dollop of wonder in their voice.

“I told you,” said Frisk triumphantly, grabbing hold of M.K. and tugging them along. “Okay, Muffet, do the thing!”

“Two for one. How efficient.” Muffet grinned, then wolfed them both down.

“Well.” Chara shrugged as they walked up to her. “Do your worst.”

“Only the best for friends of Frisk.” She winked.

As she slurped them up, Papyrus’s voice echoed distantly, the words unclear. “Just in time.” She belched delicately. “How are the accommodations, kids?”

“A little crowded– ow.” 

“Sorry, Harriet! Dude, it’s, like, dark and kinda warm. It’s so cool! I mean…”

“It will do fine.” Chara sounded stiff.

She did _feel_ rather full. “Oh, my,” she said, regarding her visibly larger belly with dismay. Apparently her glamor magic couldn’t disguise four occupants of such size after all. It was also rather disconcerting to have multiple voices sounding in her head. And she couldn’t practice more somersaults. The situation would be tenable for less time than she thought. Well, she had no reason to scurry back to her mansion just yet; Asriel, Undyne, and the others were probably pleased that they could bounce around ideas without her presence. 

Some small talk while she strolled couldn’t hurt. “How does one win this game?”

“By making the one who’s it give up.” Frisk sounded confident.

Chara did not. “Really.”

“I see.” Muffet tapped a finger thoughtfully on her chin. “Does that usually take… long?”

Her ears pricked up at some rapidly approaching footfalls. Turning toward the source, she saw Papyrus waving. She steeled her spine and met him. “Hello, dearie! Lovely time of day for a walk, oui?”

“Yes,” he said, clapping once. “But I am afraid this is not a social visit! You see, I am on a Great Mission to seek and find some very sneaky children! Have you seen some, by any chance?”

“I have not,” she said, remembering to frown a bit. “Are you quite sure they’re awake? It is the weekend, after all, and last night ran rather late.”

Papyrus gasped, eyes widening. “That is genius! Sneaking back to bed after I started the countdown. Thank you for the Hot Tip! I will check your guest rooms after I finish checking these trees! By the way, Muffet, you are looking well-fed today, if I may say so!”

“O-Oh?” She tittered, patting her rotund stomach. “I’m pregnant, actually.” With that, she turned and made to walk away.

Her nonchalant exit was unfortunately ruined by Papyrus jogging past in the same direction. At least he didn’t have any more quest–

“Congratulations!! Do not worry! It is your secret to announce, and so my lips are zipped! Or they would be if I had them!!”

Well then.

Ten or so minutes later, Harriet said, “Do you guys think it’s safe to head back now?”

“Probably,” said Frisk. “Muffet, you can drop us off in the backyard or something so it doesn’t seem too suspicious.”

“Very well, dearies,” she said, walking faster now that she had the go-ahead to release them. Then her phone went off– Mettaton’s dedicated ringtone, shortened for text.

She stopped short, blinking. “Oh, my…”

“Is that Mettaton?” Frisk exclaimed, wiggling in excitement. “You should see what he said!”

“Yes, I-I should.” Except she didn’t really want to open it with an audience… Her stomach rumbled slightly, and she let out a small belch. “Excuse moi, ahuhu.” Really, even her insides were flustered? How silly. The spiderlings had poofed away to make room for the children.

“Mettaton, huh?” said Chara. “Congrats. I was looking for an excuse to use this!”

A metallic click echoed in her ears.

“Dude, that lighter is badass!”

“How’d you know it’s a lighter?”

“I can see in the dark pretty well.”

The movements of her cargo set off more rumbles. Muffet hiccupped.

“H-Hey, you shouldn’t–”

“Relax, Frisk. I’ll give your sweet stogie back in a second.”

Muffet let out an explosive belch, which was not at all a metaphor. Chara had lit the cigar just as Muffet’s stomach rumbled again. Out all the kids flew, rocketing into the sky in a rushing cloud of green smoke. Harriet looked rather green herself, Frisk was facepalming, and MK was saying how cool it was at the same time Chara shouted apologies down to her.

“Quite all right, do pardon me,” she called back, waving as they twinkled into the sky. When they disappeared, she exhaled mightily, a green-tinged hiccup popping out at the end. “Gênante…”

Restarting her walk back to the mansion, she pulled out her phone and unlocked it.

_Good morning, Muffie! (You can’t hit me over text, can you~?) A little birdie tells me you’re neck-deep in preparations for your talent show debut! I have to say I am_ exceptionally _excited to see the final result. Just a note to say I wish you luck!_

He sent a hug emoji. Muffet was definitely not reading anything into that.

**_How sweet of you, dearie. You ought to be careful, though_ – _one might start thinking you have a favorite, n'est-ce pas vrai? ;o_**

Her phone pinged again a minute later.

_Who says I don’t? ;D_

She felt a blush coming on, but sent a reply anyway. 

**_Naughty man. Well, I’ll keep a secret if you can._ **

_Sealed with a kiss! ^w^_

“Cet homme est…” She sighed, shook her head… and sent a kissy face _and_ some x’s back.

Mettaton sent back every possible heart emoji.

It wasn’t just the lack of cargo that made her walk back home light.


End file.
